Eradicate
by Woe Kitten
Summary: A lost soul wanders Kingdom Hopsital, and stumbles upon Paul. This is an edited and reposted, older fanfiction.
1. Staring Death in the Face

The dim, spider-web incased lights flickered repetitively as the static of the radio reverberated off the gray, fuzzy walls. Screams of pain and agony were confined behind doors with frosted glass windows and faded names of doctors on the foggy, golden nameplates. My head ached as I attempted to process my exact location. I pulled me legs to my chest, taking notice of the hospital gown I was wearing. A voice of a distressed, young girl rang out, pleading sorrowfully for someone. The name was inescapably clear. _ANTUBIS! _She shouted once more with a horrified, deafening scream. The annoying static became clear, and "Papercut" penetrated the buzz.

"_Why do I feel like night today,_  
_Something in here is not right today_  
_Why am I so uptight today?_  
_Paranoia is all I got left_  
_I don't know what stressed me first,_  
_Or how the pressure was fed but _  
_I know just what it feels like_  
_To have a voice in the back of my head…"_

The sound faded and the P.A. system emitted a horrible crackle.

"Dr. Hook to emergency. Dr. Hook to emergency. Stat." The system turning off startled me. Heavy static returned, and became louder than ever. My hands immediately flew up to shelter my assaulted eardrums.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?!" I screamed over the blood rushing in my ears. I circled repeatedly until my knees became fragile and gave way. I slumped against the nearest wall, my clammy hand pressing against my throbbing forehead to alleviate the pain. The floor began to shake, like an earthquake had just occurred. It soon stopped, and I pitched over on my side, shaking violently. My eyes became foggy, and soon there was blackness. I was disturbed and awoken by the swift and stinging kick that rammed at my rib-cage.

I looked up into the hollow eyes of a teenage boy, no older than fifteen. His curly, dark hair was unkempt and misted with dirt and debris. Dark eyes reflected a sense of hatred; large, dark bags emphasizing many sleepless nights. His collar hung placidly over his shirt, which looked yellowed and stained from work or antiquity. Dark, dirty, red suspenders embraced his shoulders like a stiff bow tie on a corpse.

"Get up." He said through pursed lips and wrapped scrawny, dirty fingers around my neck and squeezed. "Get up!" His breath was icy cold and stung my flesh. He loosened his grip slightly to release pressure on his knuckles, and he looked me over, sparing no immodesty.

"Finally, some company that doesn't run to the damned anteater for protection." He paused here, his glare burning holes in my head. "You're a pathetic excuse for a human." He smiled sinisterly to show his sharp, pointed canine teeth. I struggled in his grasp to break free, and his fingers dig into the skin of my shoulders.

"My name is Paul. Welcome to Kingdom Hospital, Short Timer. Sit back and enjoy the anesthesia." Paul threw back his head in a frenzied, maniacal laugh.

"This isn't a goddamn hospital!" I managed to yell.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Paul snickered. "That meddling old hag would prefer the Keepers and the other inhabitants to call this dimension," he said, looking around, "Sweden-Borgian space." His lips curved into a mischievous smile.

All at once, the ground shook and his evil grin disappeared.

"Damn!" He cursed and dragged me into the nearest room. Several doctors and nurses scurried around the room while a panicked surgeon shouted orders.

"Pruning shears and chainsaw, stat!" An RN in the corner of the room shouldered a heavy-duty chainsaw and dragged it over to the surgeon. The chainsaw revved and was lowered onto the body of a drugged, seizing patient. Blood spattered in all directions, staining the white-washed walls and the surgeon's scrubs. The blood was filmy and thick, leaving heavy tracks as it dribbled down the walls.

Paul remained in the door frame, staring at the bloody, pulpy mess, his fingers still tightly wrapped around my bruising wrist. I tried to alleviate the pain, but his grasp tightened and my wrist cracked. I howled at him in agony, but the revving of the chainsaw engine drowned it out. I twisted my wrist around to break free, and did a stomp kick, hitting Paul's shin and coming down on his foot. He cursed and let my wrist go; giving me just enough time to bolt towards the opposite side of the room. Unfortunately for me, Paul was quicker. He stopped me immediately in my tracks. I turned towards the other side of the room, only to run into Paul, crossing his arms and laughing in amusement. He began circling, just like a vulture over a dead carcass.

"Stop circling me, dammit!" I lunged at him, but he caught me and cornered me. He pinned me against the wall, putting all his pressure onto my fragile shoulders.

"You be a nice little girl and cooperate with Paul, okay?" He snarled, showing his flashy canines once again. I swallowed hard as he moved his face closer to mine. My neck burned like hell as his teeth sank in right below my jaw. Warm blood trickled from the two holes that perforated my skin and dribbleded down my shoulder onto my nurse gown. He backed away, licking his lips. I swallowed, the puncture marks gushing fresh, chunky blood.

The door burst open, practically breaking off its rusty hinges. A huge, bear-like creature stood snarling at Paul, it's barbed-like teeth extending from it's pulsating, bleeding gums . With each breath, the body of the animal heaved, ribs extending to make the animal appear larger than it already was. Its black, endless eyes stared at Paul with such intensity that Paul himself backed away, his twitching digits ready at his sides.

A small, pale girl stood gripping the creature's coarse fur. Around her neck hung a rusted bell, gently swaying from side to side above her old, brown jumper. Her hair was a dirty blonde/brown color, framing her face and flowing past her waist. Paul pointed a pale finger at her.

"You!" He breathed. She cowered behind Antubis. Paul shifted slightly and the anteater barked at him in warning.

"Call your possessed, over-sized rodent off, Mary!"

"No!" Her voice timidly bubbled from behind the anteater.

"Can't you see that this one's mine?!" Paul yelled. Mary's little eyes and pale face stared at me. She was graceful; kind, but weak, and obviously using the anteater as protection from Paul. Paul's jaw cracked as he opened it and shifted it from side to side. He glanced at me sideways and winked. Behind his back, he held the soiled chainsaw. Behind us, the surgical scene had become a gruesome massacre. The surgeon's head lulled from his disconnected body and rolled across the floor. Nurses laid sprawled out, their stomachs cut and sliced open, exposing their twisted intestines and spattering blood with every single, weakened heartbeat.

Paul's peals of manic laughter echoed off the dingy tiles. Mary screamed horridly and hid her face in Antubis' thick coat. The huge animal's muscles tensed and it bared its rows of impaling teeth. The silence was broken by the PA system, the voice issuing a notice to Hook.

"Dr. Hook. Emergency in room 818. Code Blue." The large, lumbering animal turned and exited the room, Mary still clinging to his coat, crying with fear.

Paul squinted in concentration.

"Something about that number rings a bell," he said. He gripped my forearm and tugged as he exited the opposite door that we had entered. I sprinted so that Paul wouldn't pull my arm out of its socket. He stopped in front of another frosty glassed door.

Using his fist, he rubbed away the dust and plaque that covered the numbers on the patient nameplate.

"Thought so." Paul smirked. Before I could take a glance, I was catapulted into the room at full force. Where the door used to be, there was now a blank, empty wall. I stared blankly at it, confused. _This had to be a dream, I knew it. I would wake up in a few minutes, sweating in my trundle bed at home._

I stared at the patient, convulsing and flailing its arms. Two nurses tried to pin the figure down by binding it's wrists to the safety bars. I tiptoed closer, and then stopped. The patient looked sickly. Loose strands of dark hair stuck to the pillow. Her eyes weren't visible. A cloth embraced them. Burns covered what I saw of her body and scabs broke loose while she thrashed and writhed. Paul moved closer to the bed and began to stroke her face, patches of dry, crispy, charred skin falling like ash to the milky white sheets and pillow.

"Auto accident. Head on collision. 3rd degree burns affecting approximately 85 percent of her body. Shortly after the collision, the eyes were removed from their sockets, probably with a hunk of searing hot metal- a quick indication of targeted murder. The individual that smashed into her must have been a sworn enemy." He rattled this off at a quick pace, skillfully like a doctor fresh out of medical school.

"Look familiar?" Before I could answer and confess to him that I did not know, he untied the cloth and tore it away, revealing the damage. Her face was covered in burns, and the holes where the eyes used to be were grotesquely black and endless. Dry blood caked beneath the gaping pits. I covered my mouth in sheer terror and disgust when I realized that the badly damaged body was that of my own. I lifted my hand to backhand Paul, but he caught it in mid-air, and held fast.

"I'd watch out if I were you. You never know what damage I could do." He breathed as he clenched his jaw.

Footsteps were heard outside the entrance. Again, I was shoved through the bare wall and back into Sweden-Borgian space. A headless body of a man shuffled past us, tripping on his own two feet. Paul paid no attention and continued on down the endless hallway, dragging me behind him. We walked for a long distance and stopped at a hallowed, eerie elevator shaft leading down into the hospital's dark bowels.


	2. Is this a dream?

Paul shifted his dead weight impatiently, waiting for the rickety elevator to catch up. As soon as the descending elevator was level with the ground, we stepped on, the cables creaking eerily. A man and woman could be heard, speaking in hushed tones inside the elevator.

"Mrs. Druse, you really can't stay here. You're just an over-reactive hypochondriac, a malingerer if you will. If we hospitalized all the hypochondriacs in this area, this hospital would be busting at the seams with people." The man's voice said.

"Excuse me?" The old woman scolded. After pausing she added "I assure you, Dr. Hook that I am sick, and this hospital has paranormal beings that are trying to communicate with us. You yourself just yesterday said you saw a small girl in this very elevator shaft," the elderly sounding woman stated profoundly. Paul snorted in disgust, and the lights in the elevator flickered and died down.

"What the…?" fussed Hook. Paul mimicked the sound of the little girls voice to frighten the two inhabitants away.

"_Help me!_"

"See Dr. Hook? Did you hear that?" Whispered Mrs. Druse. Dr. Hook cleared his throat in astonishment but tried to push the thought away.

"We need to help this spirit." Druse whispered.

"Little Girl?" Her voice cracked as she called out for an answer.

"Mrs. Druse, I'm sure that we… you are just hearing things. The lights are probably malfunctioning from the reoccurring quakes." He tried to reassure her, as well as his self. For if he had to say anything, some creepy shit had started happening recently. The seismic waves were located beneath the hospital, and the hospital only. Everyone was clueless as to what was happening.

Paul was getting frustrated and deeply annoyed. But, one thing sent him reeling over the edge. Mrs. Druse once again spoke up.

"I think that the little girl knows something we don't, but should. I guarantee that there is more than one spirit occupying this hospital. Dr. Hook, I think she is warning us. There is evil here, and we need to put it to rest." Paul's smug face turned into a scowl, and he rigged the elevator. It bounced, and then fell a few stories. Mrs. Druse let out a squeal of fear and fainted. Hook's head came down hard on the curved metal handles, and he passed out.

"How's that for communication?" Paul fumed. He kicked loose one of the panels on the elevator top, the panel falling and busting into two pieces. We entered the box, Paul climbing in first and myself following. He toyed with the buttons on the elevator, turning the lights back on and rebooting it. I couldn't help but stare. Paul rolled his eyes impatiently as the elevator slowly careened downwards. Fourth, Third, Second, First. The elevator halted and a moment passed. Suddenly, it fell another floor. _Past Ground Level? _Paul yanked the dangling keys from the unconscious Dr. Hook's pocket.

He twirled them dramatically on his bony finger.

"Show off." I mumbled. He grinned. "You know, you're completely insane." I spat in his face. It took one look into those fathomless eyes to know that if he had to, he would hurt me.

He was still gripping my wrist, but he let off a little. We walked out onto the cold cement floor. I turned to look back at the large metal doors closing behind us, but a rusted, creaking gate slid back into the tracks, and swallowed the cart behind it, sending it jetting off at a dangerous pace.

A king-sized bed was set up in the small, dank room, under a light table displaying pelvic x-ray scans. Shelves of medicines and syringes were stacked on top of one another on the walls. A light flickered in the far corner, illuminating what seemed to be a small replica of a graveyard.

The individual graves were aligned neatly in several rows, each labeled with the name of the patient and the doctor on a small Popsicle stick. The jutted out from dark, rich dirt.

"Popsicles." Paul giggled unintelligently; his lips still stained a menacing red. I furrowed my eyebrows.

"You are one deranged..." I tried to find a suitable replacement for person, and found I couldn't. "Creature." I added woefully.

"Hey, that's what I'm here for. Just doing my job, Shortimer." He crowded in next to me and stuck a crooked, spidery finger in the thick mud. Blood bubbled up from the small hole, drenching the popsicle stick and overflowed from the small bread tin, dribbling off to a corner of the table and puddling on the floor. Paul non-chalantly wiped his bloody fingers on my nurse gown.

I pushed him away, and scolded him. He hissed, but continued to stare at the small graves. In the corner of the table, a specific grave caught my eye. The dirt was dry, and the Popsicle stick was cracking. Faintly, my name could be seen etched in veiny, capital letters, followed by Dr. Hook's.

I looked at Paul to ask him what the hell this was. His eyes glimmered intently and his pupils became narrow slits, like that of cat's eyes. He picked his finger up to jab at my grave that he had just spotted. I smacked his hand hard with the heel of my palm.

"Damn! You're just like a freakin' child!" He stared at me evilly, pondering over my words. He shuffled away and turned his attention to the shelves of pharmaceuticals and drugs.

"This would do away with that monstrous beast in an instant." Paul cackled as he lifted a box of Decon rat poisoning off the highest shelf. It slid from his hands and erupted as it hit the floor, causing it to shower down in powdered sheets. As it settled, Paul once again became visible. His black hair was now a mute tone of gray, and his pale skin glimmered from the flecks that stuck to his skin. He coughed and fanned away the remaining clouds that were still accumulating around his head.

"Luckily, I'm already dead," he said relieved. I just stood there, crossing my arms and tapping my foot on the asphalt. His attention turned to the other rows of doctoral and surgical tools. He grabbed scalpels, syringes, and several power tools and shoved them into his shirt and pants pockets. He gripped a thick, long, nail- like spike between his teeth, his "fangs" holding it in place.

Paul double-checked by patting himself down and making sure he had everything, rattling off a list of supplies and confirming he had it all by muttering "check" after each object behind clenched teeth. He sighed deeply, fogging the silver on the fat, pointed object. Something about him told me that I was not dreaming, and that I was in more danger than I had already comprehended. I shivered, realizing that he had actually killed those people, and that it wasn't just my sick, haunting imagination telling me to get up before this dream ended badly.

Instinctively, I shuffled to the bed and managed to deflate myself of some air to squeeze below the metal frame. Paul's back was turned, and he didn't see my attempt to hide. I made it by the skin of my neck. I heard his stiff clothing shift as he turned around.

"Fuck." He growled deeply. "Look. I don't have time for games. Get your ass out from wherever you are." The soft tap of his sole slapping the pavement rang out and echoed off the metal frame. My breathing became short and panicky as I inhaled accumulating dust. I managed to stifle an on-coming cough. My lungs felt heavy as the dust robbed me of my breath. I could barely breathe, and I started to panic. _This is just a dream, _I kept telling myself.

He became frantic and soon the sound of broken glass was heard, shattering into tiny pieces as he tossed vials and glass pill bottles to the floor with a swift flick of his wrist. I sneezed, not being able to hold this one in. Paul laughed and rolled his eyes. The shards crumbled beneath his feet as he paced across the room, pretending to be amused. I cowered, as his footsteps got closer. _If this is just a dream, you'll wake up before he… it finds you. It is just a dream._

Suddenly, it became deafly quiet. _He's gone. _I told myself. _Move before he comes back. _I twisted my body around so that I was faced towards the foot of the bed. No muddy, moldy shoes were visible. _There's a plus._ I scooted on my stomach for a few inches until my head was exactly parallel to the bottom of the bed. I stretched my arm out to reach for the old, tattered, braided rug a few feet from the foot of the bed. My finger snared a loosened loop. Unexpectedly, my hand was crushed under Paul's weight as he climbed off the bed and pinned my hand underneath his foot. I screamed in agony as my arm went numb, and I tried to pull it loose. That became a failed attempt. His scrawny body slumped to the floor so that I was at eye-level. He grabbed a hand full of hair and tugged. The skin on my left leg snagged a low hanging wire. It tore the flesh and stuck after hitting a knot of muscle. Paul continued to pull, and the string like fibers of my skin snapped like cable wires.

A trail of blood smeared the pavement as Paul continued to extract me out from beneath the bed. Paul brutally yanked me up to a kneeling position so that the tears on my face trickled off my chin. He let go of my hair and my head collapsed onto the mattress. My chest rapidly rose and fell as I attempted to regulate my breath and suppress the tears. His face was twisted into a hateful glare. I couldn't move; I was too petrified. I felt frozen in that pose, with my eyes tearing and my leg throbbing. I couldn't even feel the harsh cold of the cement floor because the blood that was covering my leg was luke-warm. I felt pressure on my skull from when he had fisted a handful of my now damp hair. Sweat stung my eyes as I blinked back more tears.

His lips curled into his wickedly evil smile and teeth glinted in the fluorescent light from the bulb over the bed. I swallowed hard and stared at him.

"Come on, short timer." He snickered. "You try to hard. Don't hurt yourself." He had the pointed object in his right fist, and my wrist, once again in his left. This time, his grip was so tight, that the carpals snapped, my hand dangling loosely. He stood up, jerking me upwards.

"Stop it!" I screeched. The broken bones in my wrist collided and made a sickening popping sound. Paul couldn't help but to laugh. I couldn't stand; my legs felt like Jell-O. He flung me hopelessly over his shoulder; my mangled calf spat blood and stained the front of his shirt, the dirty yellow turning to a dark red. I pounded on his back hard with both my fists, fighting him, but still knowing I wouldn't succeed.

He continued to ignore my wailing and entered the elevator once again. It climbed several stories and stopped. The doors flew open almost immediately. We were now in what seemed to be an actual hospital corridor. A score of nurses trampled around from door to door, issuing medications or assisting elderly patients. We passed several, but they seemed to look right through us as if we weren't there. A man that was about one-third head higher than Paul fought his way through the crowd, eventually catching up to us, falling into pace like he could sense our presence.

"Help!" I screamed at him, but he didn't hear. He was too busy gnawing on a ham sandwich; the lettuce lulling around in his wide-open mouth.

"God Elmer, eat with your goddamn mouth closed!" said Paul, issuing a swift and painful smack to the back of the scrubs' head. His glasses skidded across the hallway as he stood, choking on a half-chewed, stringy piece of ham. The nurses all turned to stare at him and one rushed to perform the Heimlich maneuver. Paul threw back his head in another one of his hysterical, creepy laughs. I screamed again at him, still kicking and pounding, cursing and swearing at him.

Suddenly, the boy stopped dead in his tracks. Even over the static, a raspy, old voice called his name could be heard.


	3. Quite Unfortunate

"Dr. Gotteriech?" Paul paused and swallowed. I could feel his shoulder quiver with excitement and anticipation. Two short interns wearing pink scrubs and matching pants walked passed us, but, unlike the others, they saw us standing there. They were twins; one male, one female. They looked from me, to Paul, to each other and shook their heads. The man whispered something to his sister and they shrugged their shoulders, and continued down the hall, stopping only once to take another glance back in our direction. I called after them, pleading for assistance. They continued to walk on, hanging their heads low. Paul's gaze, however, seemed to dwindle elsewhere.

He sauntered towards the end of the hallway, and a slight breeze tousled our hair as we entered another section of Sweden-Borgian space. It took my eyes a while to adjust to the poor lighting, but the blurry and dark became clear. In the shadows, a short, grey-haired doctor stood lifelessly and emotionless, one gloved hand and his side dripping rubies on the cement floor. A surgical mask hung from the white elastic band that hugged his thick, corded neck.

"Paul Morlock, I haven't seen you in ages. I have been looking for you, dear boy." The man's voice sounded soothing and deep, sending shivers down my spine. His wrinkled face formed into a distorted, frightening grin like a jeering jack-o-lantern.

"Dr. Gotteriech." Paul breathed. "You caught me off guard. My mind has been elsewhere." Dr. Gotteriech noticed the silver glint of the tools that stuck out of Paul's pockets and gave another wholesome grin.

"I say, my boy, what were you planning on doing with those? Destroy that young, scrawny patient that you have brought with you?"

"No. The Feeble Minded would have jumped all over that one and sure as hell known what was going on. I ran into them in the west wing before I heard you." He paused to catch his breath. "Say, Doc. That little Bitch, Mary is causing quite a fuss. That flea-ridden sac of meat has been helping and protecting her, like it owes her something."

The doctor's smile turned into a small slit. You could tell he hated Mary with the same intensity that Paul did. He just stared openly past Paul's ear. After a long pause of silence, the doctor once again spoke up.

"Say, lad. Would you mind assisting me with a spot of work?" Gotteriech asked. He motioned with a tilt of his head towards the corner of the room. A tired, sickly man was tied down to the bed, mumbling incoherently. A burst of hysterics had the patient screaming and biting at his restraints, blood seeping from his raw gums. Paul nodded in agreement.

"Put the rat down. She's not going anywhere. It'll take a while for the trauma to die down, and even then, she will be too weak to up and walk out of here." Dr. G. stated. I was lowered to the floor and leaned against the wall. Paul kneeled before me and looked me in the eyes.

"Don't mess around, you hear? Or you'll find yourself in an even more painful situation than you could ever imagine." I nodded, and he wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and stood up. He approached the operating table and emptied his pockets onto the rusty, silver cut-down tray. Gotteriech beamed in delight when his assistant pulled the ice picks from his left pocket and nodded in approval. Dr. Gotteriech fisted the automatic drill and held the glittering bit up into the light. Screams of terror filled the room, along with maniacal, evil laughter. I covered my ears and screamed along with the agonizing patient. The body jolted up and down on the bed from the power of the spinning drill as it tore through leathery flesh. Tendrils of thick, chunky blood oozed and spattered its surroundings, reaching across the room and even managing to drench me. It was sticky and hot and had already started to dry, caking my face in patches of crusty red film.

The patient flailed its corpse-like arms in an attempt to push away the machine that had already eaten away half of his physiognomy. I turned away, burrowing my face in the palms of my hands, gagging as blood started to form puddles on the tiles of the floor. I jerked my head around to discover that Paul had set me down in front of an exit. _Stupid move. _Wincing, I reached up for the brass handle. The knob was only five inches from the top of my head, but the pain made it seem that it was more. I flexed my undamaged hamstring and assumed a pathetic excuse of a crouching position.

My stomach muscles tensed and caused cramps to plague my joints. _God, help me. _I felt a sense of pride as my fingers swept over the handle.

I screamed out in agony as the ice pick caught the skin between my middle and index finger. I timidly strained my head to glance back at Paul, his arm hanging in the air like a man who had just shot for a bull's eye with darts. He wasn't even looking in my direction. His eyes remained glued to the bloodied, mutilated corpse.

"Don't try anything fancy, short timer. You're too weak to even turn the fucking handle," snickered Paul.

"Go to Hell!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as tears dribbled down my chin, washing away some of the curdled blood. They both shook with laughter. Paul stared at me, blood splattered on his face. He snatched a cloth form the silver tray and vigorously wiped his face clean. Stalking towards me, he crouched down to make eye contact. I turned to look away, but he grabbed my chin and stiffly turned it to face him. My jaw tightly closed shut.

"Want that pretty little face to end up like that, short timer?" He pointed at the limp body of the man. I shook my head frantically from side to side, still glaring at him.

"I didn't think so." He gushed crudely. He patted my head like I was his pet and stood back up. He grasped the spike and carelessly pulled it out from the woodwork on the door.

I yelped. The large hole splintered the grain of the wood, blood trickling from it like sap from a wounded tree. I continued to cry and sob, trying to forget about the pain that inched through every part of my body. I cradled my hand and squeezed it to try to make the pain go away.

"Why are you doing this to me?!"

"It's all in your head, short timer. No, I guarantee its not one of your disturbing dreams. It's far worse. Lets remind you of the crash that cost you your life…"

.

.

.

Flashes of light and sound filled the room. I was driving my Jeep from work as Sweden Borgian space faded and flashbacks of the night before swam in. I stepped on the brakes at the stop lights, and took a relaxing breath, having been satisfied with the grade on my term paper and eager to get home and in bed. The stop and go light flickered from red to green within a few short minutes. Stepping on the gas, I attempted to cross the four way intersection.

Suddenly, out of thick fog, a small, black Cadillac steamed across the intersected road, ramming it's front bone-crushingly hard into the driver's seat. My car immediately started on fire, flames licking at my flesh and blistering it, charring the pale skin on almost every part on my body. The next thing I remember was being dragged from the burning wreck. I look up into the face of my professor. His face was contorted into a wicked smile that reminded me a lot of Dr. G's.

He crouched down and whispered into my ear, "That'll show you to report me to the authorities." The smell of alcohol wafted off his breath. _Dumb ass was drinking._ Paul's voice said. i_Thought it would be a brilliant idea to just run you through for denying him a sexual favor and reporting him to the board. He got drunk, and on his way home decided to kill you. The son of a bitch nearly succeeded. After he gouged your eyes he went berserk and landed himself in his own little pool of suicide. Blew his brains all over the damn sidewalk. You were admitted to Kingdom Hospital in a comatose state. Around ten, you started to convulse, causing your heart rate to skyrocket. Dr. Hook was too late. He kept you alive for several hours, but you croaked. You never had a chance. _The image of the sirens died away, bringing forth the image of the little graveyard housed in the old kingdom. My marked grave held not one Popsicle stick, like before, but two. It was now in the shape of a tangled, bloody cross. _Welcome Home, Short Timer. Welcome Home…_


End file.
